The ma put on her frock an coat, an washed me face, an combed me hair, an put on me other clean frock, an buttoned up me coat. An then she took the suitcase from the bed an checked her handbag te see if she had everythin. She put her door key on the mantelpiece an looked aroun the room an said, ‘Have I got everythin? Let’s go, then.’
She closed the door behind her an banged the suitcase down the stairs. I ran through the hall an out inta the street. I was all excited. I looked up an down, but there was no one te see me goin. I was hopin Tommy Weaver might see me an be ragin, but there was no sign of anyone, it was very quiet. We went down the hill past me old school. The bars were still gone, an they’d covered up the hole wit chicken wire. I never went back there. I don’t know why, an I didn’t ask.
I was askin me ma about the boat an wha would we do if it sinks, but she wasn’t listenin te me. She was chewin her lip an lookin inta the distance, tryin te hurry wit the heavy suitcase.
We walked down along the quays an waited at the Ha’penny Bridge. There was no sign of Dickser. Me ma looked very anxious. ‘We’ll wait,’ she said, chewin her lip. She looked up an down an said, ‘He’ll come, he has te come!’
We waited. ‘He’s not here, Martha. He’s gone. Oh, sweet Jaysus, he’s gone, an he’s taken all me money! The whole six pounds I was puttin by fer months. I gave it te him te mind fer me. We’ve nothin, it’s all gone! What’ll I do? Wha can I do now?’
I said nothin, nothin at all. Me ma’s pain went inta me belly, an me chest was very tight. It was lovely te be happy, but it didn’t last. Me ma looks lost, an I’m afraid.
We go up te St Kevin’s Hospital in James’s Street. It used te be called the union . The porter lets us in te the waitin room. We’re hopin te get a bed fer the night. We wait a long time, but nobody comes te talk te us. Me ma gets restless, an I’m tired. The wooden bench is too hard te sleep on. She goes off te find out wha’s happenin, an I mind the suitcase. When she gets back, we have te leave, cos it’s too late fer a bed.
She drags the suitcase down past the Guinness Brewery, an I can smell the hops. ‘What’ll we do?’ she mutters te herself. ‘We’ve nowhere te go.’
We pass Frawley’s in Thomas Street, an a cat leaps outa an alleyway. It’s covered in rotten vegebales. It screeches an runs fer its life, knockin over the dustbin lid. It’s bein chased by a skinny dog tryin te protect its territory. There isn’t a sinner about, an all the shops are locked up wit the big grids pulled down te protect the windas an stop people breakin the glass an robbin the stuff. We turn down inta Francis Street an very slowly cross the road, the only noise made by our footsteps an me ma trailin the suitcase along the cobblestones on the road. I’m too tired te walk any further. An me ma is miles ahead of me. We pass the Iveagh Market, an I stop te look up at the buildin. Me granny used te sell here. But I never knew her.
As I turn te move on, I’m suddenly lifted outa my body, an I’m wit me granny. We’re like air, the two of us! She wraps me up inside her shawl, an we don’t speak. I can see she has lovely blue eyes an long brown hair. I feel her holdin me tightly. She whispers in me ear, ‘Shush, child. I’ll always be mindin ye,’ an then it was over. I looked all aroun me, but there was no one there. I thought maybe I’d fallen asleep, but I was still standin in the same spot at the Iveagh Market, an me ma was passin the St Myra’s an Nicholas Church. I moved on, still feelin the warmth of me granny’s arms. We went inta Cork Street an sat behind the door in the hallway of a tenement house. There was a fight goin on in one of the rooms upstairs. A man was shoutin, an I could hear the woman cryin, tellin him not te wake the childre. We could hear him beatin her up, an furniture an dishes gettin smashed, an the childre were screamin. Me ma jumped up an said, ‘Come on, we’d be better off on the streets than listenin te this.’
I wanted te lie down on the bench we passed in Camden Street, but me ma said, ‘No, we’d be arrested fer bein on the streets this time of night.’ We fell down exhausted under the stairs in the hallway of another old tenement house.
We went over te Brunswick Street te stay at the Regina Ceoli hostel fer women, run by the Legion of Mary. But we were too early, the hostel doesn’t open until evenin. We had hours te kill, but we just sat on the steps, too exhausted te move. The men’s hostel is just next door. Tha’s called the Morning Star. By five o’clock we were stiff an cold. We hadn’t had any tea or bread since yesterday. But I was beyond carin an just wanted te lie down in a warm bed. We hadn’t said a word fer hours until a man came over te me ma an asked fer a match te light his cigarette butt. Me ma said, no, she doesn’t smoke.